Tomorrows
by daphnap
Summary: The future is dark for the likes of Hermoine Granger, while others (like Malfoy) enjoy themselves immensely.


Title: Tomorrows 

Rating: Hard R, bordering NC-17

Spoilers: The Books, but not by much

Summary: The future is dark for the likes of Hermoine Granger, but for others, such as Malfoy, the future is nothing but bright.

A/N: Ugh. This is depressing, and I'm all for Redemption! Draco….I'm so very sorry!

Disclaimer: Not mine, but JK Rowlings and WB. You rock. I don't so don't sue. J

**

Her smile was a weak one, curving only when followed by a frown.

She hadn't done neither in a very long time.

She remembered, simply, that she had done so once, before...before a lot of things.

But A Lot Of Things was a long time ago and she couldn't really dwell on that any more.

She had a lot of reasons to think of others but she could do neither as well.

What she could do was sit still and hope the guards wouldn't notice anything.

Not that there was anything to notice of course, there was nothing really ever to notice, she would have to sit still or it would be bad. Really bad.

Kick-Punch-Wrenched-Hair bad.

She got that kind of bad a lot in the beginning, before she had learned to keep quiet and try not to get attention. She never wanted attention before, and she still didn't want to. But sometimes, even when she didn't try, they would pay attention and then...and then it would be bad.

Bad.

Kick-Punch-Wrenched-Hair-Sometimes-a-Little-Fun-Bad.

Bad.

So she didn't smile, didn't frown, didn't do much at all.

She tried to blend into the bricks, even tried to blend into the dirt, even tried to blend into the manacles that held onto her wrists that didn't bother to struggle anymore.

She had stopped doing that after the first year.

It had been five now.

Five years.

Five years since she tried to be anything but stones and dirt and manacles.

Five years since she saw something other than vaulted ceiling of her cell, the dim light of the window or the sweating foreheads of her guards as they...

As they...

She tried not to frown.

Her hair...it was shorter; shorter than it had ever been: cropped so closely that the dark mark that had been hexed onto her scalp five years ago glowed darkly against white.

She lost her glasses sometime ago.

Long time ago in fact.

Longer than five years.

She had been farsighted once. For such a reader the words on the page would often disappear in a mess of black and white blurring together. In the end the glasses didn't survive the first fight and she had charmed her eyes and didn't require them further.

She wished she had them now, if only to hide behind.

The light as it was, dim and murky, remained blinding.

She wanted to frown, but couldn't bring herself to face the consequences.

She didn't like consequences.

**

She remembers a spell that they use, a combination of a love charm and sleeping hex, that she hates so much. The guards use it all the time, so do the officers and any others that want a shot at the 'girls'.

When they say 'Girls' they mean girls like _her_, the ones with the spell that makes them _like_ what the guards don't ask for. When they touch her and she shivers she wishes it was from anger, or pain, or shock, or anything, everything except for the pleasure.

Because when they touch her and she likes it she only wants to hide behind her glasses some more.

But she's not farsighted anymore so she doesn't need them; not like they would stay unbroken very long as it was. 

And when they are done and they toss her back into the cell and twist the manacles back on and maybe kick her a few times for good measure she only thinks about the pleasure.

She thinks about it and wonders why she doesn't ever want to feel it again.

_Hit me, kick me, hurt me, bite me…_

_…Just don't make me like it._

**

He didn't know who she was until she ducked her head.

She had recognized him, and ducked her head and avoided his eyes and tried everything she could not to look up.

Her chin didn't move, didn't shake like it used to. He remembered when it shook. Quivered, in fact, in fear...or was it anger?

He couldn't remember all that well; it had been so long ago when he had been a different person; different person in the aspect that he had been less powerful.

He was powerful now, very powerful. Voldemort had been right, it had paid off. The whole controlling the world deal was a pretty penny indeed. Well, the Wizardring World at least. 

Muggles still had no idea; they were easier to manipulate if they didn't know what was going on.

But others had suffered where he had succeeded. That's the way war went, and he won the war. He paid his price, the loss of friends, family (the little he had), but he got back what he put in twofold.

_This_.

This was _so_ much better.

Here was the girl, the Mudblood with the frizzy hair and the shiny glasses and the perfect 4.0..._cowering_.

Her hair was mostly gone now. It was close cropped, tiny little ringlets that barely compared to what they had been five years ago.

This...this was so much better.

"Look up." He began, his voice the color of glass.

She followed his order to the T, her head craning towards him. Her face was the carefully built blankness that had eventually settled on all of their faces. She avoided his eyes, seemingly satisfied with examining the tapestry behind him.

"Granger," He began, and she briefly glanced at him, "Hermoine." His fingers dipped beneath the collar of her shirt, examining the seams, "These are hideous." He spoke quietly, "I see your tastes in clothing haven't changed much since grade school."

Her eyes didn't even flash and Malfoy felt disappointed.

"C'mon, I'm sure you have a retort hidden away back there," He waved his fingers in front of her impassive face, "Give an

old friend something-"

He had expected her at least respond to that, and yet, madding nothing.

Nothing.

He slapped her, her skin cold underneath his fingers.

She flinched but did not move.

Did not say anything.

"Goddamnit, I know you're there somewhere."

She didn't answer and he kicked her until she collapsed onto her knees, coughing up blood, still silent.

When she looked up at him he did not see Hermoine Granger in her eyes.

"What's wrong with you?" He shouted at her, spittle landing just below her left eye, yet she still did not speak.

"ANSWER ME."

"Sorry sir." She whispered, her voice...oh god...her voice..."Very sorry," she intoned again, "Very sorry."

Malfoy sat down on the edge of his bed dumbly, suddenly unsure. Had he been mistaken, was this not the illustrious Hermoine Granger?

"Who...who are you?" He demanded.

"142, Sir."

"Bullshit, you must have a name."

"Elly sir."

"Elly?"

"That's right sir."

"Bullshit."

"No sir."

"S'Not funny 'Elly', you are not allowed to lie to me."

"I'm not sir."

"Fine then," Malfoy began to kick off his shoes, his hand's already making their way to loosen his tie, "Do you know why you here?"

"Yes sir."

"Why?"

She looked up at him this time, her eyes clouded, darker somehow, "For you sir." Her fingers found the hem of her rough-hewn dress and she began to pull up.

"For you."

**

Afterwards, as she lay beside him on the bed, curled up into a ball, and Malfoy felt cigarette smoke do its dirty work, he wondered who the girl really was. She had moved beneath his touch, letting him do what he would. And he did.

Multiple times.

She had bucked under his touch and her toes had curled as her feet wrapped around his waist. She had been…magnificent. "I can tell you've had practice," He had whispered into her ear as she moved underneath him, "Good girl."

She didn't answer but to capture his mouth in her own, her teeth nipping at his bottom lip with hunger. 'Elly' was skinny, the skin barely hung onto her frame. Darkened shadows hung in the crooks and hallows of her clavicle and back. His fingers hand skated across her vertebrae as she nibbled on his earlobe.

But she never spoke, no sound escaped from her lips except to moan.

Practice was something that she had in spades: practice with the guards, practice with the officers, practice, practice, practice made perfect.

When he had finally finished she curled up into a ball and stared at the wall, unblinking.

He looked at her, the bruises around her wrists, the scrapes across her shoulder blades, the dark mark glowing dully underneath her hair.

She had licked his own mark, it had been burnt into the nape of his neck and he remembered her breath falling hotly against it.

She had been _wonderful_.

But now.

Now.

Her eyes that had danced beneath her eyelids as he had pushed into her had stilled, frozen. Her breath that had come out in gasps as he ran his hands down her back had slowed. She drew them in shallow, wet breaths, hitching every once in a while.

His hand danced across the bed sheets and began to caress her back.

It was then that she finally spoke, "Please-" she whispered.

Malfoy smirked, his fingers dipping below her waist.

"-Don't." 

His fingers stilled and he studied her profile, "You would dare to deny me?" 

Her breath snagged in her throat and she let her hand rest against his, "I'm sorry…I meant-I meant 'Don't stop'." 

He withdrew his hand, dragging it wetly up and across her hip, "That's not what you _meant_," His fingers rested against her neck, grasping loosely the tendons that strained against her skin.

"No!" She turned underneath his hand, pulling herself closer to his body, "No," she continued again, this time her voice hot, "Not what I meant at all."

She tossed a leg across his waist, drawing her hips against his with a hiss, "Ready for another round?" Her hand had found his cock and she grasped it between her fingers.

As she spoke his grip had tightened against her throat, relishing the feel of her trachea as it vibrated against his fingers. His other hand grabbed the one that was doing maddening things to him, tangling his fingers roughly into her own until settling roughly against her wrist.

He flipped her over, pressing himself even deeper against her skin.

"Do." His tongue touched the tip of her nose, "Not." His tongue found her upper lip, "Argue." He dragged it along the crevice between her lips. The fingers around her neck tightened, "You do not want this," He whispered this as if it was the most humorous thing in the world, and his fingers tightened even more, "But do you want me to continue?" 

She nodded her head, bucking under his fingers.

And he laughed again, and she whimpered.

"Don't lie to me." His fingers squeezed along the ridges of her throat, "What." He whispered before his teeth bit into her ear, "Do." He licked the expanse of her jaw, "You." He nipped at her lips… "Want?" …before his tongue pressed against her teeth.

She couldn't answer because she couldn't breathe because his fingers had pressed her throat closed.

"Don't answer that," He continued as he pushed into her, "I don't really care."

**

When he finally fell asleep she pulled herself out from under his arm, grabbing her slip from under the covers on the floor. It hung limply against her shoulders and she stumbled across the floor until she reached the chair next to the door. She drew her feet up, clutching her knees to her chest.

She wanted to cry but couldn't seem to find the tears.

Even if she had them, she reasoned, she didn't want to draw attention to herself; she had stopped wanting it a long time go.

**

He woke up to an empty bed and her dark eyes scanning his face. When his eyes found hers she sucked in a breath and pulled in her knees tighter to her chest. Light fell across her face and he felt something in him crack.

It _was_ her.

He could tell now; the way the shadows fell he could almost imagine the way her hair had rested against her shoulders. He could almost make out the way her lips had pursed when she concentrated on a potion.

Almost.

A lazy grin floated across his face, "Granger," He began, bringing his arm across his naked chest as he stretched, "Hermoine," He patted the bed, "You're not going anywhere." 

He smiled again as the fluttering sounds of her breathing stopped.

She uncurled and slipped out of her slip. Her footsteps were light as she silently made her way back to his bed.

His arm snaked its way up her thigh until it rested at the crook of her hip, "That's better," He whispered, his lips finding the cusp of her ear.

"I missed you." And he laughed as he felt her stomach grow taunt and her breathing stop. And as his fingers traced the angle of her neck and the sharpness of her cheekbones he licked her tears before bring her mouth once more against his.

This was _so_ very much better.

**

End.

**


End file.
